Shadows of the Past
by MyLuckyStars
Summary: The war with Voldemort is over, but Harry's lost everything that was important to him. He decides to start a new life, complete with Muggle neighbors, a Muggle house, and a Muggle lifestyle. Will the world he's become so accustomed to let him go?
1. Empty Silence

Edited Version: see Chapt. 4

**_disclaimer:_** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

War was hell. That much he knew. Although he had never tried to deny it, or thought it was a picnic, that didn't mean he had to like it. Harry Potter gave a grim laugh at his title of being _'The Boy Who Lived'_. He wondered if it could be changed to _'The Boy Who Lived at the Expense of Others'_. James and Lily Potter, Professor Quirrell, Bertha Jorkins, Barty Crouch, Cedric Diggory, Sirius... they were just the beginning of what had become a tragically long list. 

Unfortunately, in his time since Hogwarts, it had continued with too many people who had meant the world to him. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Snape, Dumbledore, not to mention the countless others he hadn't even known. Voldemort was finally gone, Harry had killed him just as the prophecy had dictated, but he felt that the price was much too high. Harry's future felt like a black hole, nothing to look forward to.

It had been an entire day since Voldemort's downfall, but the magical world was in such distress, that the battleground had remained silent and still as the grave. Nobody from the Ministry had yet reached the scene, due to the fact that they were busy all across Britain mending damage that Voldemort had left in his wake.

Harry had tracked Voldemort to a forest in Scotland where the Dark Lord was hollowing up with what was left of his followers. Unfortunately, the Order of the Phoenix's numbers had been equally devastated. The loss of Dumbledore had been the straw that had broken the camel's back. No matter how hard the Order's members had tried, they couldn't seem to pull themselves together. Some had left; tired of watching their friends die. Others had rushed into battles, determined to gain some sort of revenge for what had happened.

When Harry had finally tracked Voldemort to the forest, he was accompanied by only five of the remaining members of the Order, two of which had been Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy. Something had changed Malfoy during the summer his father had been sent to Azkaban. To Harry's surprise, when he had returned for their sixth year, he had approached Harry to join the DA. It had taken most of their sixth year for Harry to finally trust Draco, and almost twice as long for Ron to come around. But the fact that he had tried to get along with Malfoy, even when he was skeptical, had been a reminder to Harry of how good a friend Ron was.

Harry heard the crackle of twigs behind him and turned to see Draco approaching through a thick layer of fog that had gathered in the low areas of the glade, his robes billowing dramatically, making Harry think of his former potions master. Only Harry, Draco, and Neville had survived the attack on Voldemort and they had remained in the woods to make sure there weren't any other Death Eaters still lurking about.

"Harry, Longbottom and I are pretty sure there's nobody else in the forest. We just received an owl from the Ministry. They're trying to track down some Aurors to clean up this mess." His face was streaked with dirt and it looked like he hadn't had a decent nights sleep in over a week. Harry was sure that he didn't look much better.

"I'm not sure I want them to come," Harry said with a deep sigh as he sat down on a fallen tree. It crunched slightly underneath him, clearly rotted through, and the bark was damp. He didn't care; his robes were already wet and rumpled. The hem glistened slightly with a red liquid. He didn't want to think about what it was.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, a frown on his face. "Harry, it's over. You can finally rest."

"Yeah, but I've got nothing. Everybody's dead." His voice was barely louder than a whisper. Draco was his friend, but he never had meant as much to Harry as Ron and Hermione, to much bad blood had happened in their past to allow that. Draco and Neville were all that were left of his friends. Neville had been lucky enough to have a girlfriend who had survived the war and they were now going to have a chance at happiness. Harry wasn't about to force his presence on them. He would only serve as a reminder of the horrible past. "I don't know if I can face the wizarding world again. I've given them to much."

Draco was quiet for a few minutes then, "So you're leaving. Are you going to live with the Muggles?" Over the past four years, Draco had made great strides toward becoming more accepting of Muggles, but there was still some disgust in his voice.

"Probably. At least there I can live a quiet life, instead of being looked at as some sort of war hero."

"I guess I understand," Draco said, folding his arms across his chest. Harry knew he didn't, but appreciated his attempt.

"I'm sorry, but I just don't think I can be here any longer." He looked around him and saw bodies strewn between the trees, some of them were casualties from their side. "Will you tell Neville that I appreciate everything he's done, and that I hope he and his girlfriend have a wonderful life?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah, I'll tell him. What do you want me to tell the Ministry?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't really matter. Tell them whatever you'd like."

"So I can tell them you're a cross dresser by night?" Draco asked, raising a quirked eyebrow to lighten the situation.

"Sure, if that's what you really want to tell them," Harry said, forcing a grin. "Just make sure you set them straight on _your_ nighttime activities also."

"Yes, Potter. Always one for the dramatics," Draco drawled. For a second, it was a flash of the Malfoy he had once known and loathed, but the smile on his face extended to his eyes. It was genuine, one shared between friends. "Thank you for everything, and I'm sorry. I wish Ron and Hermione were here so I could tell them as well."

"I do to," Harry said, a lump rising in his chest. "Go find something to do with yourself, Malfoy, and try to forget about everything that happened here."

"Will do," Draco replied, and with a crack, Harry disapparated.

"Malfoy, has Harry gone already?" A voice drifted from behind him and he turned to face it.

"Yes, he just did."

"Why didn't you tell him to wait a minute? You knew I was coming." Neville Longbottom emerged from the fog and he was frowning.

"I did tell him," Draco said with an innocent expression. "He said he couldn't get away from you fast enough."

"Very funny, Draco," Neville said sarcastically, "But seriously, did he say anything before he left?"

"Yeah, he did," Draco said, turning more serious. "He said that he hoped things worked out well for you and Matilda and that he needed a break from everything."

"But he's coming back isn't he?"

"I don't know," Draco said thoughtfully. "Maybe not to the wizarding world, at least not for a while, but I think he'll get back to us in a few days."

Neville nodded absentmindedly. "I suppose so," he replied slowly. "Come on then, the Ministry said someone would be here soon, and we should probably go to greet them. Someone could get lost in fog like this."

"Indeed they could," Draco said, grinning to himself at the prospect of some Ministry official like Percy Weasley stumbling blindly through the fog.


	2. What Once Was Lost

Edited Version: see Chapt. 4

**_disclaimer:_** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

Rumours had spread like wild fire through the neighbourhood when the new occupant of the old McGuire house moved in. The McGuire house was about half way down Burton Road and nobody had lived there in over seven years. It was a rather large home, one of the largest in the area, and the cause of most of the rumours was the boy who had purchased the place. He was only nineteen and many wondered how a boy that young could have stumbled across enough money to buy the small manor. Supposedly, he lived by himself, as no one was ever seen entering or exiting the house. Many of the more curious neighbours had knocked on his door on several occasions over the day, but he had hardly ever answered. 

Mrs. Foster of 264 Burton had welcomed him to the neighbourhood the day he moved in. He had only introduced himself as Harry and despite all her verbal prodding, had never let a last name slip. Later that night during a dinner party at her house, Mrs. Foster informed half the other women on the street that he was a thin man with unruly black hair and glasses. "He looked dreadfully tired," she told the women, "And he had the oddest scar on his forehead. It was shaped like a lightning bolt."

"That's strange," Mrs. Sanderson from 269 Burton said. "How do you suppose a person would get a scar like that?" The women went on with their speculating, and Mrs. Foster continued.

"Everything he said was very vague, but evidently his parents left him quite a bit of money. He said, and I quote, 'I just wanted to move somewhere quiet'."

Mrs. Walker (266 Burton) snorted slightly into her glass of wine, "Well that's a first, usually boys his age only have one goal, and that's to be loud and obnoxious."

Mrs. Foster shook her head slightly. "You see that's just the thing. By looking into his eyes, you would think he was much older than he actually is," She shivered slightly, "His eyes, even though they were the most vivid shade of green, were cold and hard. I think that boy's seen something terrible."

"Well as long as I don't have to call in noise complaints to the police at 2am because he's having some obscenely loud party, I'll be happy," Mrs. Walker said.

* * *

Down the street in 261 Burton, Harry had finally finished unpacking. Over the past two years, he had acquired quite a lot of possessions, but very few of them made him happy. Hermione had left everything she had owned to him and Ron. He had then inherited the rest of her stuff when Ron had died, along with quite a lot of his possessions. Lupin had continued the horrible pattern, but Harry supposed the largest shock had been when Dumbledore's will had listed him as the sole benefactor of his estate. Now as he walked through a house filled with things once owned by his friends and family, all he felt was intense loss. He didn't know what they had been thinking. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of everyone who had died. He had been running on pure rage and desire for revenge for almost six months. But now with nothing left to pursue, he felt utterly empty and deflated.

Between the books from Hermione, Lupin, and Dumbledore, Harry now had a rather large library that he was slowly dredging his way through. He had begun reading the books in a vain attempt to hold on to Hermione's memory. He also had a Dark Arts collection that rivalled the restricted section at Hogwarts, all of which were courtesy of the Black Family collection that Sirius had left him.

In the summer between his fifth and sixth year, it had been his initial desire to destroy all the books and rid #12 Grimauld Place of every dark object that resided there. First on his list had been that foul portrait of Sirius's mother, even if it had meant demolishing the entire wall. He had moved through the house with a vengeance, eradicating all the 'priceless' family heirlooms to continue Sirius's quest to cleanse the house. But Hermione had convinced him to keep the books. She had thought it'd be a good idea to study them, to better know their enemy.

It was starting to drizzle outside, and the low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Harry thought it reflected his mood nicely. He had no idea what he would do now. It had been nine years since he had regularly lived in the muggle world, and even then, the Dursley's kept him in-doors most of the time. Harry considered getting a job even though he didn't need the money. Thanks to his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore, he was probably the richest wizard in Britain, perhaps second only to Draco Malfoy. However he didn't think he could stand to stay home all the time, he would go stir crazy. If he wanted a muggle job, he would need to get a muggle education, as he didn't relish the thought of working in a supermarket or factory. There was a university not far away and he supposed he could start attending classes at the beginning of the spring term, but that was still a fortnight away.

The rain was now coming down in sheets and large forks of lightning lit up the sky. Harry looked out a window and further down the street he could see the Foster's house lit up. He had been invited to the party, but decided to decline. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the night with a bunch of stuck up, Dursley-esk, Muggles. Like Petunia, this Mrs. Foster seemed to be hell bent on spreading gossip. She had practically begged Harry for his last name and he suspected that if he hadn't been standing directly in the threshold of his front door, she would have tried to push her way into his house.

He continued to stare out the window, raindrops pelting against the pane of glass. A reflection in the bottom corner of the window momentarily caught his eye and he shifted his attention to it. "Oh Christ, not now," he swore when he realized what it was. He turned and found Ginny Weasley there, giving him a concerned look.

For the past three or four months, Harry had been receiving visits from old friends. He didn't know exactly what they where, but they certainly weren't ghosts because they seemed to have no idea that they were dead and gone. Also, unfortunately for Harry, it seemed he was the only one who could see them. They had popped up a couple times when he was with Draco or Neville, and the two boys had always given him a concerned look.

"What do you want, Ginny?" he said with a loud sigh.

Her eyes narrowed and she looked hurt. "Is something wrong, Harry?"

"No, nothing's wrong," he replied rather coldly and turned to look out the window again.

"I doubt that," she said, "You're kind of acting like a jerk."

"Yeah, well, sometimes that happens." Harry hated these encounters, and often the fastest way to end them was to be an arse so they would leave. He doubted they were anything more than his memories, shadows of the past. Yet somehow, subconsciously, he must have been bringing them to life in a way similar to how he had managed to set a boa constrictor on Dudley and blow up Aunt Marge. Harry wished he knew how to stop it. It would be a lot easier to heal if his wounds weren't continually re-opened every few days.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ginny said, moving closer. Harry shook his head swiftly and she stopped. "Listen, stop being so _stubborn_! I'm just trying to help! Why won't you let me?"

"Just leave me alone Ginny," Harry said, his back still to her. His breath was starting to fog up the pane of glass in front of him and he wiped it away with his sleeve.

"Harry..."

He finally lost his patience and spun around to face her. "I said _leave me alone! _Go _away_! I don't want to talk to you!" Her eyes went wide in shock and then tears started to well up. Her mouth hung slightly ajar, and then she buried her face in her hands and started to cry. Slowly, she faded away, like smoke in the breeze, but the sound of her crying lingered in Harry's ears. He sunk to the floor and drew his knees up to his chest. Tears started to stream down his cheeks and he rested his head against the wall.

He had just been starting a relationship with Ginny when she had been killed no more than four months ago. They had been in the first stages of love, moving past their friendship into the relationship and completely infatuated with each other. She had helped him deal with Hermione and Ron's deaths and vise versa. But when she had died, it had been to much. Ginny had left a pit in his heart, and it seemed to be in no hurry to heal.


	3. Now is Found

A few days later, Harry decided it was about time that he got out of the house and became more familiar with his surroundings. A woman was set to come in and clean at around noon, but he didn't plan on being home. He was still craving solitude and didn't feel like having the forced conversations that accompany having a stranger in your home.

He wasn't worried about her finding any of his magical items. He had left instructions for her to stay out of the library and all the rest of it, like his broom and robes, was locked in his bedroom closet.

Walking up a street in the high street area, Harry found himself wondering what, exactly, muggles his age did. His only point of reference was Dudley and he wasn't about to go around beating up small children and smoking on street corners. He found it somewhat humorous that at one time Mr. Weasly, who thought he was some sort of muggle expert, had quizzed him. Now, he felt more like Ron, ignorant to the ways of the non-magical world. Granted, he still knew how to use their money and transportation, and wasn't likely to gawk at things like plugs, but he felt lacking in some of the more social aspects.

"Oy! You up there! Coming through!" Harry turned and saw three boys roughly his age, barreling down on him. They were riding skateboards and evidently found it more convenient to make him move, rather than avoid him themselves. Harry stepped into the entryway of a store, and they passed him by without incident. Harry shrugged to himself and then continued on up the street. He supposed he could learn one of those muggle sports; his broom certainly wouldn't be of much use anymore. He felt a pang of regret and realized there were certainly things he was going to miss about the wizarding world. However, in this case, the cons outweighed the pros.

Harry passed several storefronts, nothing grabbing his interest until he came upon a bookstore that caught his eye, Harry impulsively decided to step inside and instantly knew Hermione would have loved it. Books filled the tall shelves, which seemed to be crammed into every available nook and cranny of the store. He walked through the first couple of rows, and suddenly heard a squeal of delight from somewhere up ahead. Harry stuck his head around the corner of a bookcase; curious who was making the odd noise. As soon as he realized who it was, he spun around and began stalking out of the store, not caring that he was bumping into several people on his way out.

"Hey Harry!" the squealer was calling after him, but Harry ignored it and exited the store, stepping out into the sunlight. He knew he was being followed, and he continued into an alley where he leaned against the side of a building, waiting for them to catch up.

"Harry, what's _wrong_ with you?" Hermione Granger came charging down the alley, her bushy brown hair splayed out behind her and a frown on her face. "Listen, I know you and Ron don't care much for books, but that doesn't mean you had to be rude and ignore me while you made a scene storming out of that store!"

"Sorry Hermione." Harry mumbled. He was starring at a place on the opposite wall, about three feet left of Hermione's head, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Harry had made a run for it because he didn't care to engage in conversation with a figment of his imagination in the middle of a crowded bookstore. The last thing he wanted was to end up in some mental institution. It was then though, that Harry remembered something Ron had said to him back in their second year. _'Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world.'_ Harry found that he was mouthing the words to himself. Clearly, seeing apparitions of dead people could only be worse.

"Harry!"

"What?" he said, somewhat dazed as he was rudely snapped back out of his reprieve.

"You can't possibly tell me nothing's wrong." she said, dropping her hands to her sides somewhat helplessly.

"Nothing's wrong." he ground out through clenched teeth.

"I can't help you if you won't let me." Hermione said in exasperation.

"Hermione, what makes you think that if I don't let Ginny help me, I'm going to let _you_?"

"Fine." she said, trying to look as if she didn't care one way or another. However, it was clear to Harry that he had sufficiently stepped on her feelings.

Harry was momentarily tempted to apologize to her. None of this was her fault, but he couldn't go on with his life having conversations with people who weren't there. He had to get rid of her, no matter how much it hurt. "Listen Hermione, why don't you just leave, you don't need a friend like me."

She looked like she wanted to stay, to try and figure out what was troubling him, but finally she nodded and faded away. She would be back, as they all came back, never remembering the previous time around. That was part of what made it so hard for Harry. No progress could be made.

Harry sighed and sunk heavily to the pavement. He would have probably remained like that for quite a while if he hadn't heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hey, you're Harry Potter aren't you?" Harry found it somewhat odd that there was someone talking to him. Mostly because the alleyway had been deserted when he entered, and he hadn't noticed anyone come in. He found himself hoping that they hadn't witnessed his seemingly one-sided conversation with a brick wall named Hermione. He pulled himself to his feet and was greeted by a middle-aged man wearing dark blue robes.

"Erm, yes I am." Harry replied, somewhat wearily. The man looked a little star struck and Harry stood there for a few minutes, feeling more and more self-conscious. "What are you doing down here?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Oh!" the man said, snapping out of his stupor. "Well, a couple of my friends and I had set up our own private tavern back here a few years ago." He gestured to the back wall of the alleyway, and a doorway and a couple windows materialized out of the brick. "I doubt the Ministry even knows it's here." Harry was beginning to wonder why he was telling him all of this. "We're having to move out now because a group of muggle boys found out about us two days ago."

"Why didn't you tell the Ministry?" Harry asked in surprise. "You should have had a team come over here and modify their memories."

"It's not as serious as it sounds, I promise." the man said, waving a disregarding hand. "They simply spotted one of us entering from the muggle world. Essentially, watched a man disappear into a brick wall. They suspected it was more of a trick than magic per-say. They were studying the wall, looking for a secret opening, for a full hour. We watched them from inside."

Harry was still frowning, and for a moment, he felt like Hermione. No doubt, she would have disapproved of the whole situation in general.

"We put a muggle repealing charm on the place so we could move out." he continued. "I almost thought it was defective when I saw you out in the alley. I thought you were one of the boys from before." He was eying Harry's muggle clothes with a curious expression.

"Right, well I'm not a muggle." Harry said, somewhat lamely.

"Oh yeah, I know!" the man replied with an excited grin on his face. "We haven't quite finished cleaning out the place, if you'd like to come in and have a drink." Harry was almost afraid the man was going to continue with _'it'd be a real honor…'_ To his relief, he didn't.

"I suppose so." Harry replied, deciding that he could probably at least catch up a little on what was going on back in the wizarding world. He had decided not to subscribe to the _Daily Prophet_ because a fair chunk of it was glamorized gossip anyway.

"This is such an honor." the older wizard said, his eyes lighting up. Harry had to fight the urge to groan out loud. "By the way, my name's Charles Novack." Charles stuck out his hand and Harry shook it, feeling a bit foolish. "Well, I suppose we should step inside." He gave a glance down the alleyway as if afraid a mob of muggles was going to jump out of the shadows and attack them.

For a private bar, Harry was surprised to see that it reminded him a lot of the Hog's Head Inn. A thick layer of dust and flyspecks covered the two windows, and frankly, Harry was surprised that Charles had been able to spot him through them. The floor was made of rough, unfinished wooden planks and besides the bar; three rickety looking tables filled what was left of the space. Two other wizards were busy boxing up glasses and bottles and one of them had just thrown a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace. After the flames turned green, he then shoved a rather large crate through the stone fireplace.

"Hey mates, you were right. It was Harry Potter!" Charles' voice boomed in the small pub and the other two men looked up at Harry. He immediately started to kick himself for coming in. It took less than a minute for Voldemort's name to come up and before he knew it, excuses and forgotten appointments were flying out of his mouth and he hastily retreated back out into the alleyway. Thankfully, none of them followed him out, and he put his head back, squinting up into the sunlight. Harry sighed heavily. If this outing was an indicator, then people everywhere were teaming to hear the inside story about what really happened to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

He was already receiving several owls a day from the _Daily Prophet_ and other various wizarding publications that wanted to hear what had happened over two months ago in the forests of Scotland. He was glad that he had made his home unplottable; otherwise they'd most likely be at his door.

Harry started to make his way back out of the alley, his shoulders slumped forward. He found himself slightly perturbed that even after throwing himself into the muggle world, he had still managed to trip over magical people and places. As he passed the bookstore from earlier, he paused to gaze in the window. A shopkeeper was restocking a shelf with heavy, leather-covered books. She had bushy hair and for a moment, he was reminded of how Hermione had used to pour over the books in the library. With a shake of his head, he continued walking and found himself wondering if any of this would ever change.

Harry again passed the boys who had almost run him down on skateboards, but he didn't notice and continued up the high street. They were sitting on the stoop of a vacant store, and a sign in the window advertised its availability for lease. The three boys watched him closely as he passed, but Harry didn't even glance at them. Once he was by, the tallest of the three boys leapt to his feet and produced a lock-pick from his pocket. He started to work on the lock, his long brown hair falling into his eyes. He irritably brushed it out of the way and about fifteen seconds later, the door swung open.

The three of them piled inside and once the door was safely shut behind them, the boy who picked the lock let out a heavy breath and leaned against the dusty counter.

"If you don't mind me saying, you two have lost it." He rubbed a damp palm against his forehead. "I've picked a fair few locks, but never in broad daylight right on the high street."

"We figured if you had enough skills and composure to pull this off, then there would be no problems with deserted lanes in the middle of the night." One of the other two boys said, grinning widely. "We had to make sure you were reliable."

"And it would appear you are." The other boy cut in. "It's one hell of a rush isn't it?"

"It sure is." The brown haired boy said with a large smile plastered across his face. "My heart's still in my throat."

"Well Aidan, it's your lucky day. As long as Scott here agrees with me, I think we may have a job for you."

- - -

Rachel Brown was somewhat wide eyed when she stepped into Mr. Potter's home. Even though he was only nineteen, a good eight years younger than her, she considered it a professional courtesy to refer to her clients as Mr. So-And-So, and Mrs. What's-Her-Name. And frankly, she figured he deserved it. Anybody that young with enough money to buy a house this big deserved some respect.

And the house certainly was large. He had informed her earlier that it contained five guest rooms, a master bed and bath, and a large library with a study. The last however, he had requested she stay out of. Rachel had to admit that she was slightly curious why he wanted her to stay out of the library, but as it meant less work to do, she had decided not to press the issue.

The house was incredibly dark. Black, heavy drapes hung over the numerous windows in the entryway. It made her feel like the house was in mourning. To her right, a grand staircase led upstairs and there were french doors underneath it. Ahead, was a hallway that led away from her to what she presumed was the rest of the house. The entire length of the hallway was lined with windows on the left hand side, but there were more drapes on those windows as well. The house actually seemed like it would be bright and cheerful if the drapes were drawn.

Rachel was felt uneasy in the dark and complete silence of the home. Sighing heavily, she decided she'd better get started by having a look around. She proceeded to the french doors under the staircase and turned the doorknob. Nothing happened, and she figured the study most likely resided behind those doors. She was about to continue checking the rest of the house when there was a nock at the front door. She considered not answering it. After all, she wasn't Mr. Potter's servant; he only paid her to clean the house. In the end, curiosity got the best of her and she made her way over to the front door.

Standing on the front steps were two women. One was about fifty or so and the other looked roughly eighteen. The older woman was holding and enormous fruit basket and had a plastic smile plastered on her face.

"Can I help you?" Rachel asked, eying the woman carefully.

"We just thought we would bring by a 'welcome to the neighborhood' gift." The older woman said, putting her new facelift to the test. Matilda was afraid her skin was going to split under the strain of talking.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Potter's not home at the time. Perhaps if you would come back later." To her surprise, the younger woman was actually starting to pout, however, the other woman's face actually lit up and the skin stretched even tighter.

"Well, that's quite alright. My name's Mrs. Abigail Foster. I live just a little way up the street. This is my daughter Victoria."

Rachel shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the situation. This woman probably thought she was Mr. Potter's maid. "Uh, I'm not Mr. Potter's servant." she said. "I just clean his house for him. This is actually the first time I've ever been here."

"Oh, well yes, of course." Foster said with a very high-pitched fake laugh. "Well dear," she continued, pushing past Rachel, "why don't you continue with what you where doing and Victoria and I will just put this basket in the kitchen."

Rachel was about to protest, but Victoria had followed her mother into the house and they were already making their way down the hallway to the rest of the home. She shrugged and headed upstairs, let the old bat and her air head daughter deliver their stupid fruit basket. At least then they'd be gone and out of her hair.

Mrs. Foster tutted slightly to herself, Potter's home was dreadfully depressing. Everything was dark and barren. She and her daughter had hardly encountered any art pieces or furniture on their way to the kitchen. Victoria almost tripped on the upturned edge of a rug because it was so difficult to see in the low light of the house.

"It sure is dark in here." Victoria commented after she had stumbled on the fourth rug. If Abigail didn't know better, she would have suspected they were tripping her daughter on purpose.

"Yes, well we'll change that once you're married." Abigail replied. She had big plans for her daughter, which happened to include marrying her off to some rich guy. This Harry Potter fit into her scheme nicely. He was roughly the same age as Victoria, was rather handsome as far as wealthy men went, he only lived a few houses away, and of course the most important factor of all, he was rich.

Victoria didn't reply, but nodded absentmindedly. She was content to let her mother do all the hard work of finding her a husband. After all, if the situation ended up being unbearable, she could always get a divorce and take him for all he was worth.

When they found the kitchen, Abigail plopped the fruit basket down onto the island with a loud thud and started to snoop around. Victoria was leaning against a kitchen cabinet, watching her mother open various drawers and cupboards. She noticed a frame laying face down on the counter near her, and walked over to it. Upon picking it up, she squealed in surprise, startled by the image. Her mother came over to her, her shoes clicking on the tile.

"What's wrong?" She asked, concern on her face.

"Oh, it's nothing. I was just startled because it was a moving picture." Victoria said, holding up the frame. The image was a group shot of six people, and they where smiling at each other and being all around merry.

"I saw one of those at the electronics store just the other day." Abigail said. "It plays a short video instead of just a photo. I was considering getting it for your father's birthday." She looked at the photo for a few seconds. "That's Potter there." Abigail said, pointing to a young man with rumpled black hair and glasses.

Victoria nodded and studied the photo for a few more seconds. Rachel then came into the kitchen, having finished checking out the upstairs. She coughed slightly, making them aware of her presence. She was amused to see Victoria jump out of her skin in surprise. "Well, I've got to get on with the cleaning, and I'm sure you ladies have other engagements."

"Yes, we were just leaving." Abigail said, gesturing for Victoria to follow her. Once Rachel heard the front door close, she sighed heavily. It probably hadn't been a good idea to let them in while Mr. Potter wasn't home, but at least they had delivered their gigantic fruit basket and left. Rachel deciding to start cleaning in another room and wandered out of the kitchen.

On the counter sat the frame that Victoria had hastily put down. The people in the wizard photo were still waving merrily. Aside from Harry, there was a smiling Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Draco, and Neville. They were oblivious to how close they had come to being forced down the garbage disposal earlier that morning by Harry.


	4. Left to His Own Devices

Hey look everyone, new chapter! Ok, so here's the deal with this story... I've caught the bug again, isn't that great! However, part of what had been giving me vicious writer's block was a sort of corner I had written myself into. Yes, I know, only three chapters and already a corner! Thus, I had to go back and do a LOT of re-writing. It's not bad, the story's a lot better than it was before, so if you read the first three chapters of this story at some point before January 24, 2005, then you'll have to go back and re-read the updated versions. I'll mark them as updated so you'll know that they've been successfully edited and loaded.

Also, huge thanks to the people who reviewed :D **Adi Gallia1, Tears-Of-Love-Tears-Of-Hate, Lil Miss Potter, texasjeanette, SiriusRulz14,** and** Vanna**. Your comments are greatly appreciated and hopefully the new work on this story will redeem me a little for making you wait so long. Special thanks to Adi Gallia1 as you commented on all three chapters. You totally rock! Ok, enough author mumbo-jumbo, here's the newest installment!

_**disclaimer:**_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

Harry had felt no desire to leave the house for the next several days, electing instead to remain howled up in his library. While he still wouldn't consider himself much of a reader, there was a sort of calming comfort that came with being in the room. He found the silence and smell of leather and musty paper relaxing. He didn't care to think about the fact that it was probably a throwback to all the time he had spent in the Hogwarts library with Hermione and Ron.

At the moment, he was relaxing in a large leather sofa that was situated in the middle of the room, facing a large bank of windows. There really wasn't much to look at, a rather large hedge separated his yard from the neighbor's and it was about the only thing visible through the pains of glass. He had the windows open, letting a cool breeze in, and spotted Hedwig right as she came swooping into the room. She had two letters with her, and much to Harry's surprise, one of them was a bright red envelope. He was intrigued by the presence of the red envelope as he had no idea who would be angry enough to send him a howler. Hedwig dropped the letters on his chest and perched on the armrest of the couch.

"I see you've brought me bad news." he said to her in a scolding tone. She gave him a look that stated all to clearly that she didn't really care. Although the howler was starting to smoke and hiss in a menacing fashion, Harry decided to open the other letter first.

_Harry,_

_I've informed the ministry of your cravings for solitude and it wasn't easy to keep them from paying a house call as they have a lot of questions for you. However, you should be happy to know that the Malfoy name still holds some clout. I finally convinced them to not search you out. I've heard some rumors that Rita Skeeter is trying to obtain the rights to publish a historical account of the rise and fall of Voldemort. You know how accurate that will be._

_I apologize for the howler. If you haven't opened it already, it's from Molly Weasley. She threatened to castrate me if I didn't pass it on to you, so obviously, I obliged._

_On a closing note, you may want to consider attending some parties or social gatherings. Yes, I know that's the last thing that's on your mind at the present, but if you put in a few appearances here and there, it might keep people from searching you out. Just a thought._

_Draco_

Harry thought Draco might have a point about avoiding the problem of people trying to find him, but the howler, which was starting to grow alarmingly warm, diverted his thoughts on the subject. It seemed like it was growing more and more impatient with his delay. With a loud sigh, he broke the seal and settled in for the worst. Molly Weasley's voice filled the library, rattling the panes of glass in the windows.

_Harry Potter! How _dare_ you? Left for the muggle world and not a word of where you'd gone. I had to threaten Draco just to get this delivered! Arthur has some strange notion in his head that you don't want to be surrounded by wizards right now. I can try to understand that, but I would have thought you'd tell _us_ where you were going! You should know better than to think you're not part of this family. I'll be expecting your owl by the end of the week._

With that, the paper burst into flames and Harry felt a wave of guilt wash over him. She was right after all. The Weasley's were like family to him, but he had decided that if he went back to the Burrow, he'd only remind Mr. and Mrs. Weasley of Ron and Ginny. It was partially why he was avoiding the wizarding world on a whole. How many other lost loved ones would Harry remind people of?

Harry sat up, brushed the ashes off of his shirt, and made his way over to the desk. About twenty minutes later he had finished writing a reply to both Draco and Molly. He told Molly that he was living in a town just outside London, and that he would come visit for Christmas. He tried to appease Draco by asking that he would inform him of the next party at Malfoy Manor and he would try his best to attend.

After Hedwig had set off with the letters, Harry leaned back in his desk chair and watched her fly away, again letting his mind wander. After the pace and tone of the last few years, the lack of activity made him feel as if there was some important task that he was forgetting to do.

Things weren't finished of course. There were undoubtedly Death Eaters that had managed to evade capture and would be willing to take up Voldemort's cause. Neville and Draco had both agreed to keep an ear out for anything out of the ordinary.

He was starting to doubt his decision to go into self induced solitary confinement. He was itching to do _something_ and figured he would soon get cabin fever. Harry had grown accustomed to the magical way of life, but mostly, he didn't know if he could stand to be alone… alone with a bunch of books.

Harry looked around the towering shelves of books and sighed heavily. The size of the house really wasn't helping. He would have been completely comfortable in a two room flat, but he had made the mistake of going house hunting with Draco. Malfoy had insisted that anything with less than five bedrooms was unacceptable. Harry figured it was probably due to the home Draco had grown up in that gave him that opinion. Harry had objected, saying that there was no need for all the excess space, but the library had sealed the deal for Draco. He claimed that it would be an insult to Hermione, Lupin, and Dumbledore if he stuffed all their books down in a vault in Gringots. Malfoy Jr. clearly still lacked emotional tact, but Harry hadn't been in the mood to argue and gave in.

After that, Draco had been in almost every day for a week, going behind Harry's back to set up renovations. Malfoy said that the place needed to 'resemble a respectful wizarding home'. Harry thought he was doing it all because he was actually itching to change Malfoy Manor, but didn't dare. Over the past few years, it had come up now and then in conversation, that there were several curses placed on the house to ensure that none of the 'honorable' dark heirlooms were removed. Harry thought briefly back to Sirius' crusade to eradicate dark evidence from #12 Grimauld place. It was likely then, that Draco was taking his frustration out on Harry's house, and Harry realized that he couldn't blame him. At least he'd managed to keep Draco from getting him a house elf or twenty.

All those damned books. He _should_ have put them in a vault in Gringots. He didn't know who he was kidding, Hermione was always the reader of the group. He had finally finished _Hogwarts: A History_ the night before, after so many years of chiding and nagging from Hermione. He found it slightly humorous that he already knew a bulk of the information thanks to her. It now sat on the edge of the desk, not far away from him and he pulled it closer. Although Hermione usually took phenomenal care of her books, the leather was wearing on the corners and a few pages seemed to be threatening to fall out.

"Ugh, not _that_ book." Someone behind him gave a snort. "What, did Hermione refuse to tell you something so you had to look it up on your own?"

"Hello Ron." Harry said, not bothering to look up as his dead friend came around the desk and slumped down on the sofa. He looked around, taking in the surroundings.

"Erm, nice place." He looked a little puzzled that Harry would choose to have a full-scale library in his house.

"It was Draco's idea. He thought I should have a proper wizarding home."

"Or what _he_ thinks is a proper wizarding home." Ron said with a slight scowl. "Since when did you start listening to him anyway?"

Harry almost replied, _'after you and Hermione died'_, but instead said, "I just don't care anymore. If he wanted to mess with it, then I was more than willing to let him. I had more important things to deal with."

Ron visibly bristled at Harry's tone, but he made a show of trying to look relaxed as he leaned back into the sofa. "Well, it's a nice place."

"Yeah, you said that already." Harry was studying the cover of _Hogwarts: A History_ and he ran his fingers over the design stamped into the leather.

Ron crossed his arms across his chest. It was clear that he wanted to comment on Harry's behavior, but felt uncertain without Hermione to reassure him. True to his tact-less fashion, he finally blurted out, "Where's Hermione?" Harry merely shrugged and Ron tried again. "Harry, did something happen?"

Harry clenched his teeth and briefly shut his eyes. If one more person asked him that, dead or not, he would loose it. He took several seconds trying to calm himself even though there was so much on his mind that he couldn't hope to sort it out at the time. "No, everything's fine."

Ron didn't look the least bit convinced, but he didn't say anything and instead started to stare at his hands. They both sat in an uncomfortable silence for a good ten minutes.

Harry spent the time having an internal struggle concerning what to do with his guest. He was beginning to feel like the visits from Ron were the worst. Yelling at him often led to a drawn out fight and there had even been an occasion when they had actually ended up in a physical fight. It was only when Harry had punched him in the nose, causing his friend to end up spread eagle on his back, that he had finally faded away. Harry was still troubled by the look of hurt and shock that had been on Ron's face.

"Ron, you know you're dead right?" Harry said, finally deciding to just get to the point.

Ron's face contorted into a mixture of forced amusement and poorly hidden concern. "Uh, what's that supposed to mean?" He said with a stiff chuckle.

"It means what it sounds like." Harry stood up and came around the desk. "Voldemort killed you, I failed to stop him. It happened about a year ago."

"Harry, if I'm dead, then how could I possibly be sitting here talking to you?" Ron sat forward, any trace of amusement gone. He was now looking at Harry as if he'd completely lost it.

'_Maybe I have.'_ Harry mused to himself. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, casting Harry's shadow across the floor. It gave him an idea. "Ron, come stand over here." He gestured to a spot about a foot away from where he was standing, but still was in the path of sunlight. Ron gave him a questioning look and Harry frowned. "Just do it Ron."

"Fine, fine." He pulled himself to his feet and stood in the indicated spot. "What now?"

"Look down."

"And what exactly am I looking for?" He asked, staring at the ground.

"Your shadow, or at least your lack of one." Harry said rather bluntly.

"Harry, this is stupid, it's just-" He stopped shortly when he looked from the ground in front of him, to the ground in front of Harry. "I – I don't understand." His voice had grown hushed and rough.

"I told you, you're dead." Harry couldn't bear to watch Ron's reaction.

"Well, by all means, don't be to broken up about it." Ron snapped suddenly, noticing the detachment in Harry's voice.

"What do you want me to do? Keep putting myself through the ringer every time a dead friend decides to drop by for a little visit?" Harry balled his hands into fists. "If you would all just leave me alone, I'd be better off."

"Fine, you don't want your friends anymore, then I won't waste my time trying to be here with you." Ron started to fade from sight, and angry frown on his face. Once he was finally gone, Harry stood, staring for several seconds at the void he had left.

"Something on your mind?" Harry spun around, surprised to hear another voice in the room. His dead friends usually had the courtesy to wait a couple days before coming to visit again. Instead, however, he found Draco's head floating in the fireplace.

"Malfoy, you startled me." Harry replied, moving closer to the fire. "I just sent you an owl about half an hour ago, you can't have possibly gotten it already."

"No, I haven't. Normally I wouldn't intrude, but you had a fire going so I figured you couldn't be to angry if I checked in." Harry nodded and Draco continued. "You wanted to know if either Neville or I managed to catch wind of anything out of the ordinary. I think we might have. Nothing's for certain, but we're going to check it out anyway."

"Give me half an hour to get ready and I'll be right over." Harry cut in, already on his way to the door.

"Potter wait, I didn't mean it was a call to arms, I just thought you'd want to know."

Harry stopped mid-stride and his arms fell to his sides. "Listen Draco, it's one thing for me to isolate myself when the greatest danger to the wizarding world is Rita Skeeter's newest article, but I'm not going to let you and Neville go into a possibly dangerous situation while I sit here and twiddle my thumbs."

"Alright Potter, if you insist. I suppose I can stand being in your presence." Draco replied in mock annoyance.

"Thirty minutes Malfoy and I'll be there."

Harry hurried to the door and Draco called after him. "Dress warmly, you're going to need it."

Aidan, Scott, and Bruno were trying to casually stroll along Burton street without raising to much suspicion. It wasn't an easy task as they were a little out of place in the upscale community. After Bruno had waved at a woman doing gardening in her front yard, they stopped and faced 261 Burton.

"Are you sure this is the right house?" Aidan asked, taking in the lack of a car on the drive and the darkened windows. If the front lawn hadn't been kept up, he would have thought the house was empty.

"Yeah, this is it." Bruno answered. "Supposedly, they just moved in about a fortnight ago, which means they're probably not completely settled yet."

Scott nodded and they watched the house for a few more minutes. There didn't seem to be any action inside, and none of the lights came on even though the sky was well on it's way to dusk. "I think we've been here long enough." he commented. "We'll come back in a couple hours when it's completely dark."

They continued on up the street, watching for any particularly nosy neighbors. There seemed to be an abnormally large number of them, but they weren't daunted. If they kept quite and professional, none of that would be a problem.


	5. Possibilities and Calamities

Chapter 5 is here, and here's our **_disclaimer:_** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

Siberia was cold. But then again, that was a given. Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter trudged across the frozen ground, shivering despite their multiple layers of clothing. Puffs of warm air rose out of their mouths and dissipated into the twilight that was quickly falling.

Harry had not only donned a heavy set of flannel lined robes, but he also wore fur lined boots, dragon skin gloves, and a thick wool cloak that he had cast a warming charm on. However, all of it seemed to be in vain. He suspected the charm was already starting to wear off as his arms and legs were growing numb and the cold was creeping in the hood of his cloak and wrapping it's cold fingers around his neck.

They had flooed into a wizarding village in Northern Siberia about ten minutes ago, but because there was a non-apparition policy for the village limits, they were forced to walk from there. Similar policies had been active in wizarding villages all across the globe during the war. Although it was a rather feeble defense, they had been put in place to prevent Death Eater invasions. It seemed the citizens of this particular village were still paranoid as they had received several frightened stares already. Their destination was a small cottage on the very outskirts of the village, and Harry could make out soft light shining through the frost coated panes of glass in the windows.

"Who exactly are we going to see anyway?" Harry asked. He had barely even spoken to either Draco or Neville since they had left for Siberia almost as soon as Harry had flooed in to Malfoy Manor. Even after nine years in the wizarding world, Harry couldn't help but be amazed that they could travel such distances by using a fireplace.

"Hagrid," Neville replied. "He and Madam Maxim got word that someone trying to stir up trouble with the giants and get them to turn on the wizarding world. They're supposedly here in Siberia. Hagrid decided to leave Hogwarts so he could come here and look into things."

"It could be some other non-human magical creature," Harry said, thinking aloud. "Vampires or Goblins maybe."

"Could be," Draco replied, "But Hagrid says he's got a feeling it's some of Voldemort's old supporters." They had reached the door to Hagrid's cottage, and Draco reached out a gloved hand to knock on the door. There was the sound of feet scuffling inside and the curtains on one of the windows fluttered slightly. A few seconds later, the door was yanked open and Hagrid stood there, glowering down at them.

"Come in you three, quickly." They shuffled past and he shut the door behind them. "Did all of you have to wear black?" He asked with a frown. Harry was a little surprised he would care about their clothing choices. "For a man keepin' an eye out for Death Eaters, the last thing I want to see is hooded figures dressed in black callin' at my door." He grinned slightly at Neville. "If I hadn't of been so sure no respectable Death Eater would wear a lemon yellow scarf... well let's just say your welcome would have been a lot less friendly."

Neville looked down at his scarf as if seeing it for the first time. It was indeed lemon yellow with tassels that must have been at least a foot long. Draco was looking slightly stunned and blinked a couple times.

"By the way Longbottom, nice scarf," Hagrid said gruffly, clapping Neville on the shoulder.

"Matilda made it for me. She said she liked the color on me." He shrugged slightly in a _'what do you do?' _sort of way.

"We didn't mean to startle you Hagrid," Harry said apologetically. "I just haven't really gone cloak shopping since leaving Hogwarts. This one's managed to hold up." Neville nodded in agreement.

"Black's the fashionable color this year," Draco said, as if he wanted it cleared up that he, at least, wasn't still wearing his school cloak. "And besides, we're in Siberia in January. It must be a good 25 below centigrade out there. What were we supposed to wear?"

"It's no big deal really. I apologize, I'm just a bit on edge here. Not really any familiar faces and I feel bad about leaving Hogwarts." He moved towards the table and sat down. Harry was stuck by how much this cottage resembled his hut back on the grounds of Hogwarts, but then, most of the furnishings were probably the same. There was the same scrubbed wooden table and patchwork quilt on the bed, however, Harry noticed something was missing.

"Hagrid, where's Fang?" Harry had realized that the large, black, boarhound that liked to drool on his knee was nowhere in sight. He couldn't really picture Hagrid leaving Hogwarts without him.

"I left him with Olympe at Beauxbatons," Hagrid explained. "I attract enough attention jus' on my own. Would of left him at Hogwarts, but I didn't spose the new groundsman would appreciate sharing the hut with 'im."

"So you've left Hogwarts for good then?" Neville asked, sitting in one of the chairs across from Hagrid.

"Yeah," Hagrid replied, sighing heavily, "most of the professors are new this year anyway and McGonagall's only staying long enough to get everything settled. She could of had the Headmaster position, but didn't want it. Seems like the school's kind of reached a turning point. It's going to be a while before they're back on their feet again."

The three recent students nodded. "Well, on a lighter note, how about we go track down some possible Death Eaters?" Draco said suddenly, pulling his wand out of his many layers of clothing.

Hagrid gave a short laugh and shook his head. "You're something else Malfoy."

"I know," he replied with a shrug.

"You're right though," Hagrid continued, standing up, "it'll be a fair walk out there. We should get going." Harry, Draco, and Neville all exchanged a look. Once they were out of the village, they could easily apparate to the given location. However, since Hagrid had been expelled from Hogwarts, he wasn't allowed to perform magic. That meant another long trek through the biting cold.

Hagrid started to pull various pieces of winter clothing out of a wooden chest by the fire. He put on thick gloves, boots, and a fur cap, and everyone started moving toward the door. The cabin was really rather crowded with them all in it, and Hagrid had to squeeze past Neville to reach his moleskin coat and crossbow. Finally, he threw the heavy door open and a bitter cold gust of air blew into the cabin, making the flames of the fire flicker. Harry's breath was momentarily taken away by the fridgid air, and with a grumble, he cast another warming charm on his cloak before stepping outside.

"The spot's a little over three kilometers from here," Hagrid said over his shoulder as they left the village limits and started through a wooded area. Now that they were sheltered from the wind, it was a little easier to breath and Harry was glad there was only a dusting of snow on the ground. A foot or more snow would have only made traveling twice as difficult.

"Do you know how many Death Eaters are up here?" Neville asked, puffing slightly as they made their way up an incline.

"Saw a couple blokes headed up here about two hours ago, but I can't imagine there's more than three or four of them total."

"One can hope," Draco commented. After about half an hour of making their way through the woods, they came upon a meadow. Night had completely fallen and the moon was rising, barely a sliver in the night sky. Harry could make out a rundown building about four hundred yards off. "This is it?" Draco asked in a hushed tone, scanning the tree line for any possible threats.

"Yeup, this is it," Hagrid said with a nod.

"What's the plan?" Neville asked. "They've got to have wards or something to keep anyone from walking in."

"We could try to draw them out," Harry said, thinking. "Our odds are probably better that way anyway, since we have no idea what's in there."

"Any suggestions Potter?" Draco asked. His teeth were starting to chatter and his cheeks were tinged pink. Neville kept snuffling, his nose bright red, and Harry felt his toes going numb. Hagrid, it seemed, was the only one immune to the cold.

"You're the Slytherin Malfoy, where's your cunning and craftiness?"

"I have a feeling you don't want to know what my idea would be," He said with a grin.

"I'll let you three work this out," Hagrid said, with a roll of his eyes. "I'm going to take a turn around the meadow and see if I can't spot something." He moved off to their left, crossbow at the ready.

"We could just knock," Draco said with a shrug. "Death Eater's aren't exactly known for their brains. Look at Crabe and Goyle."

"I don't figure they're all _that_ stupid, but go ahead Draco, try it out," Neville said, sarcastically.

"What was that?" Harry asked suddenly.

"What?" Draco said, his eyebrows furrowed. "I can't here anything." They were silent for a minute, straining their ears.

"It sounds like footsteps," Neville said, his whisper so soft that Harry could barely hear him.

"Hagrid shouldn't be back yet," Harry whispered. "He just barely left."

"It's not Hagrid," Draco said. "It sounds like there are two separate people."

"We'd better start moving," Harry said, gesturing in the direction oposite of the voices. They were moving as quietly as possible, but they hadn't made it five steps before they were caught.

"What _are_ you doing here?" an unfamiliar voice hissed. Harry sighed heavily and started to turn, gripping his wand tightly. He could barely see anything due to the sliver of a moon. All he could make out were two dark forms among the trees. "Dressed like that, you might as well have sent an owl announcing what we're doing here," The voice continued. They started to move closer and out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Neville and Draco raising their wands.

"On three," Draco said in a low voice. "One... two... three!" Curses rang through the woods, and there was a short blast of light, followed by the muffled noise of two bodies hitting the hard, frozen, ground.

"This is all to easy," Draco said, frowning.

"It was like they were expecting us," Neville said, uncertainly.

"If they were expecting us specifically, they would have attacked us when our backs were turned," Draco said, "They were expecting someone else and just happened to think we were them."

"We should find Hagrid," Harry said. "Whoever they were meeting is probably lurking around here somewhere. We don't want to-" He was suddenly interrupted by a bright flash of light across the field. It was followed moments later by a pain-filled yelp.

"That sounds like Hagrid," Neville said, going slightly pale. Harry didn't wait for the other two, he immediately apparated across the field coming as close as he could to where he had seen the light. He felt a slight moment of disorientation and turned slowly, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. A couple seconds later there were two pops off to his left, signifying that Draco and Neville had arrived.

Everything was almost unnaturally quiet for a second and then Harry heard a soft groan somewhere up ahead. He moved forward cautiously, trying not to trip over any roots or underbrush. He hadn't gone far before coming across the form of Hagrid. He was slouched against a tree, clutching a hand to his chest.

"Hagrid, what happened?" Harry whispered, rushing forward.

"Be careful Harry," Hagrid cautioned, "there's three Death Eaters around here somewhere."

Pounding feet approached and Harry readied his wand, but it was only Neville. "Hagrid, what happened to you?" he asked, repeating Harry's unanswered question.

"No time for that," Hagrid said with a feeble wave of his hand. "Where's Draco? We need to get out of here."

"I don't know," Neville said. "We weren't sure which way Harry had gone so we split up." His face shone with sweat despite the temperature.

"Neville, what happened?" Harry asked, knowing he wouldn't be this agitated without a reason.

"I've already spotted two more Death Eaters on this side of the woods," He said, wiping a gloved hand across his forehead. "I'm pretty sure I managed to stay out of sight, but I have no idea where they are now."

"They could hear running footsteps again and the three of them started, Neville and Harry drawing their wands and Hagrid struggling to stand. This time Draco emerged and he frowned at them. "You started a party without me?" He then noticed that Hagrid was bleeding and grew more serious. "What happened?"

"Like I told these two, I'll tell you later. We've got to get out of here."

"I agree," Draco said, nodding. "There are at least three more Death Eaters in the forest."

"I think the three of us could probably apparate with Hagrid to the edge of the village and floo out." Harry was rubbing his hands together, trying to warm them up. His fingers were starting to grow numb. He noticed that Hagrid's eyes were drooping closed and Harry was worrying about how much blood he'd already lost.

"I don't think it'll work," Draco said, shaking his head. "We could be seen and it would raise a lot of questions if we show up in the local pub with a bleeding half giant."

"It's going to be difficult," Harry said with a frown, "but I don't know what else we can do."

"We'll use this," Draco said, as he pulled a pocket watch out of his robes and snapped it open.

"What is it?" Neville asked, looking at it wearily.

"It's a portkey back to Malfoy Manor." Draco thrust it forward. "It's been in the family for ages, mostly to avoid situations that could potentially be embarrassing to the Malfoy name."

"So essentially to aide in Death Eater escapes?" Neville said. "The noble house of Malfoy."

"I'm not the one who made it, I just use it," Draco said, glaring at Neville. "Which I suggest we do before members of other 'noble' families find us."

Harry nodded in agreement and learned forward to place a finger on the watch face. "Hagrid," he said shaking the man's shoulder with his free hand, "you need to put a finger on the portkey."

Hagrid's eyes blinked open weakly and he struggled to reach out a hand, finally heavily resting a finger on the suspended watch. Neville followed suit and Draco straightened slightly, letting a finger hover above the face.

"Alright everyone, Malfoy Manor in three, two, one..." He placed his index finger on the watch crystal and Harry felt the familiar experience of traveling via portkey. The forest disappeared only to be replaced by the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor.

Harry stumbled slightly, still not completely used to using portkeys. Hagrid fell over with a swallowed yell.

"We need to get him to St. Mungos," Neville said, crouching next to him. In the light of the entrance hall, they could see that Hagrid had lost a large amount of blood and there was an arrow stuck in his chest. His eyes blinked open briefly and he tried to focus on their faces.

"Not Mungos," he choked out.

"Why not?" Harry asked, worry creasing his forhead.

"Hagrid, we're good, but not that good," Draco said. "We've got to take you."

"Hogwarts, take me to Hogwarts," he said, coughing. "Can't trust Mungos now."

"I'll go contact McGonagall," Neville said, running off to the nearest fireplace.

"Hagrid, _now_ will you tell us what happened back there?" Harry feared he wouldn't stay conciouse much longer.

"I ran into three Death Eaters," Hagrid started, his voice raspy. "an' one of um used _Expellearmus_ on me. Sent my crossbow flying and it went off in the air." He started coughing again and this time, a spray of blood covered his lips.

"Hagrid, it's alright. Neville should be back soon," Harry said, giving Draco a worried glance.

Neville came running , followed closely by Professor McGonagall. She took one look at the scene and instantly conjured a floating stretcher. After carefully levitating him onto it, she asked, "How long has he been like this?" Her footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way to the fireplace.

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "Fifteen minutes perhaps?"

"We'll just have to cross our fingers. Madam Pomfrey's already waiting for him." She was frowning deeply and when they reached the fireplace, she took a pinch of floo powder and guided Hagrid through the flames.

"I think we should follow," Draco said, once McGonagall had disappeared in the flames. Neville agreed, but Harry was apprehensive. He hadn't been back to Hogwarts since the end of his seventh year and virtually every centimeter of the castle was loaded with memories that he now found painful.

Neville noticed his hesitance. "There's not really anything else we can do at this point," He said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Draco and I can take care of it."

Harry felt guilty about not following Hagrid to Hogwarts, but he had an almost physical panic about returning to the school.

"I'll send you an owl to let you know what happened," Draco said.

Harry nodded slowly. "Alright." Guilt burned in his chest and he watched as Neville and Draco disappeared into the flames. He waited a few minutes for the flames to die down before he added another pinch of floo. He stepped into the greed flames and said, "261 Burton Road."

* * *

When Neville and Draco emerged, they were in Professor McGonagall's office. It appeared that although she was the acting head, she chose not to take up Dumbledore's old office. She and Hagrid where nowhere in sight, so they continued on to the hospital wing.

As they passed the Great Hall, it appeared that dinner was just getting out and they soon found themselves in a sea of curious students.

"Probably a good thing Potter didn't come after all." Draco commented as several students pointed and started whispering. Most of the students recognized them, as it had only been two years since they had been students themselves, but it was always odd to see anyone other than students or staff in the castle. It usually meant something big was happening.

The crowd parted, students heading off in separate directions towards their respective common rooms and once they were alone again Neville said, "It does feel strange to be back though doesn't it?"

"I suppose," Draco said with a shrug. They walked in silence for a few more minutes. "Something's wrong with Potter." He said suddenly and Neville gave him a puzzled look. "I mean something more than usual." He added.

Neville gave him a weak smile. "I know what you mean. I don't know if it's really good for him to stay shut up in his house right now."

"We should start visiting him then. Maybe get him to a few quidditch games. My life's been horribly dull lately," He grinned weakly and gave a dramatic sigh. "If I have to spend one more day alone in my father's house, I'm going to try to _Avada Kedavra_ myself with a mirror."

Neville tried to hide a grin at Draco's melodramatics. "Are you sure we're talking about helping Harry, or trying to improve your social life?"

"Well excuse me, but evil or not, I grew up in a very high profile family. We didn't really understand the meaning of a 'night in'."

"Well tonight's been an exception. We probably shouldn't have let Harry go home. We're doing him no good by letting him hide from what happened," Neville said as they reached the hospital wing. Inside, they could see Madam Pomfrey bent over Hagrid, examining his wound. She hurried off, probably to grab a potion of some sort and McGonagall came out the door, looking worried, but a little calmer than before.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Longbottom," She said, acknowledging them. "I would suggest that you refrain from visiting Hagrid tonight. He's got a long night ahead of him and Madam Pomfrey had declared that she doesn't want any anyone in the hospital wing."

They nodded, knowing exactly how Madam Pomfrey felt about distractions for her patients. "Do you think he'll be alright Professor?" Neville asked, wringing his hands.

"I don't know." She said, sighing heavily. "Madam Pomfrey didn't think he would have lasted much longer if he hadn't arrived when he did. As it is, we're lucky he was shot with his own arrow. At least we know it's not been poisoned. She's making him a blood-replenishing potion right now."

"I suppose I should send Potter an owl about Hagrid then," Draco said.

"Where _is_ Potter?" McGonagall asked, realizing he wasn't present.

"He didn't come," Draco said, not looking at her as he rummaged in his robes for some parchment. McGonagall gave him a questioning look, and when he didn't say anything, Neville continued.

"He's been shutting himself in his house lately," He explained. "The three of us and Hagrid are the only people in the magical community who have seen him since Voldemort was defeated." Neville paused for a moment. "Frankly Professor, we're worried about him. He hadn't been the same since the war broke out a year and a half ago."

"None of us have been Longbottom."

"I'm not saying that nobody else is affected." Neville said hurriedly.

"The fact of the matter is that he wouldn't come back to the school, even with Hagrid in as bad of shape as he is," Draco said, finally pulling a roll of parchment from his robe.

"Well, you two won't be the first to worry about him," she said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"So you think there's nothing to be done?" Neville asked.

"It's no longer up to me to tell you what to do," McGonagall answered. "It hasn't been since you walked out of this school at the end of your seventh year. However, if I can give you a bit of advice concerning Potter, don't push him. What's happened of late is something we're all going to have to work out on our own, Potter especially. Now if you'll excuse me, I must attend to locking down the school for the night."

They watched as her form dissapear down the corridor, the clicking of her shoes gradually fading away. "I suppose I'm off to send Potter an owl," Draco said, heading for the owlery. Neville took one last look at Hagrid's immobile body before he followed Draco further into the school. The castle was now deserted, and they only encountered the Fat Friar, who engaged them in conversation for a full ten minutes before they managed to get to the owlery.

Neville stood in silence watching Draco scribbled a letter to Harry, and sent it off with one of the school owls.

Draco watched it fly away, then said, "Do you ever feel like somewhere along the way everybody took a wrong turn?" He paused, "Something about this feels off."

Neville shrugged. "I suppose I can't really say how it's supposed to feel." Draco rolled his eyes at Neville's non-commitance and continued to look outside, thinking about the past few years. If he was right, then he wondered what, exactly, had gone wrong.

* * *

A/N: Wow, this wasa really fun chapter for me to write! I know a lot of you want to know what's going on back at Harry's place, and we'll get to it, don't worry!

Thanks to all those who reviewed!

**gallandro **- First of all, thanks! It's an honor that you put me on your C2 community _blush_ And so many questions, I love it when my readers leave questions! Concerning our delinquants and Harry's wards, I've got one thing to say, _timing is everything_.And Harry's behavior towards Ginny and Co., well, we've seen Harry explode at loved ones before, and also, there are some things I haven't quite revealed yet. All I can say is stay tuned!

**Tears-Of-Love-Tears-Of-Hate** - You'll hear more about Aidan, Scott, and Bruno. They're currently planning to break into Harry's house, however what he thinks about that is another matter all toghether.


	6. Intruders

Ok, here it is. The long awaited chapter 6. This one's taken a lot of work for me, so I hope you guys like it.

**_disclaimer:_** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

Harry came stumbling out of his fire place, feeling sick to his stomach. He would have liked to blame it on the amount of traveling he had done in the past few hours, but he knew that wasn't the real reason. He had just left Hagrid during a time of need. All because he didn't like the thought of being back at Hogwarts. He sighed heavily and tossed his cloak on the sofa. It was still radiating heat from the warming charm he had placed on it earlier. 

He roughly threw himself into the desk chair and buried his head in his hands. Hagrid was possibly fatally wounded, he needed to get a hold of himself. He couldn't live his life hiding from the past. The guilt seemed to eat at his stomach and he had the urge to get up and pace. He tried to think of ways of relieving the feeling, but every time he came back to the same conclusion. A trip to Hogwarts. That was it, he would just go to Hogwarts. It was the least he could do. Harry was half the way across the room when he heard something. It sounded like a door being closed somewhere in the house.

He instantly tensed and pulled his wand out of his robes. Was it possible that one of the Death Eaters had somehow tracked him down? There was the sound of footsteps out in the hall and the door handle to the library rattled slightly. There was a pause and then the knob rattled louder, followed by the noise of metal scratching against metal. His heart leapt into his throat and a cold sweat broke out on his face. A loud throbbing started to pound through his head and his grip tightened on his wand. The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was saying them.

"_Reducto!_" The wood of the French doors blew outward, splinters raining down on the floor, and a cloud of dust obscured the doorway. He rushed forward, not wanting to loose the element of surprise.

It wasn't long before his foot connected with something soft and he could make out a dark shape amidst the now settling cloud of dust. The figures were dressed in black and Harry readied his wand. However, it didn't take him long to realize that he hadn't encountered a team of Death Eaters. Instead, he found himself looking at three Muggle teenage boys.

A moment of confusion settled in as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. They were clad from head to toe in black and had duffle bags slung over their arms. All of them were lying completely still and Harry moved from one to the next, making sure they were all still breathing. It appeared that none of them were seriously injured, in fact, one of them was starting to stir. It was then that he realized he had a problem on his hands.

While it was probable that none of them had witnessed him use magic, he couldn't just send them along their way. They had broken in, that much was obvious. And while that fact alone may have been enough to be relatively certain they wouldn't go to the police, he still needed to be sure that they didn't leave with a memory of what had happened. It seemed now that the most pressing issue was damage control.

One of the boys started to stir and his eyes blinked open. Harry found himself unsure of what to do and he skirted away from him. "Wha-what happened?" the boy asked, holding his head in his hands. He had shaggy brown hair, and his face was round and chubby. It was then that he noticed his two friends were still out cold on the floor. His eyes fell on Harry who was lingering in the shadows of the corner. "Who are you?" he practically shouted, his voice trembling.

Harry just stared back at him, trying to decide what was the best way to handle the situation. He didn't want to scare them. But he couldn't think of any methods of restraining them other than with the aid of magic. The other two were beginning to stir as well.

"Stand up," Harry said, automatically pointing with his wand. "In there, all of you." He gestured to the study and the three intruders exchanged wary glances with each other. They no doubt thought they had encountered a mad man. As far as they were concerned, Harry was meerly brandishing a stick at them. "Hurry it up," Harry growled. The ministry was surely on it's way and he needed to contact someone before they got there. He was growing impatient and felt an unexplainable sense of urgency in his chest. That, paired with his concern for Hagrid, was sending sharp stabbing pains of anxiety through his body. Harry couldn't remember feeling this anxious before. It bothered him that he seemed to be having a panic attack when this paled in comparison to what he had faced in the past.

"Uh, who _are_ you?" the boy with short, spiky, blond hair asked. Of the three, he seemed to be the one in charge.

"I think I should be the one asking that," Harry said with a frown. "What are you doing in my house?" They all stared back at him, dumbfounded. One of them made a gaping motion with his mouth, reminding Harry of a fish out of water. He fidgeted and then all the sudden he was making a dash for the door.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Harry shouted, and the boy's legs instantly snapped together and he went rigid. With the absence of propelling limbs, he stopped suddenly and the momentum sent him plowing face-first into the floor. The other two stared in horror.

"What did you do?" one of them shrieked as he watched his friend lay on the floor, stiff as a board.

"We are so screwed," the boy with spiky hair said. "Aidan, I'm so sorry for getting you into this!" he babbled to his incapacitated friend. Aidan didn't respond, lacking the means to do so.

"I said get in the library," Harry said as calmly as he could manage. "It'll happen one way or another." Finally, the two who where still mobile moved through the ruined doorway. Harry levitated the third in after them and the boy stared back at him, terror in his eyes. Harry deposited him against the sofa, propped up like a board, and the other two took the hint to sit down.

Harry paced in front of them for a few seconds, trying to work out a general plan. It seemed his only hope of keeping things quiet would be to get a hold of Arthur Weasley. Anyone else might use this opportunity to conduct formal questioning regarding Voldemort's defeat. All of this meant contracting Mr. Weasley at the Burrow and running the risk of being berated by Mrs. Weasley. He only hoped he could convince her that it was a big enough emergency that he didn't have time to talk.

Harry went to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder from a dish on the mantle, tossing it into the leaping flames. He leaned in and thought he could hear a gasp of surprise from the sofa behind him. '_No wonder,_' Harry reasoned. It wasn't everyday that Muggles saw someone stick their head into flames, green or not, and remain uninjured. Ash was starting to pelt him in the face and he said, "The Burrow," as clearly as possible without swallowing a mouthful of the hot soot.

A few seconds later, he found himself looking in on the Weasley kitchen and feeling a little sick to his stomach. However, no one was in the room. It was likely that they were just in another part of the house, but Harry realized that his plan would be pointless if he couldn't get a hold of Mr. Weasley.

"Hello, is anyone home?" Harry called out. Only Mr. and Mrs. Weasley lived in the Burrow anymore, their only living children having moved out long ago. He waited a minute or so before calling out again and this time, he could hear footsteps descending the stairs.

"Keep your shirt on," someone replied and Harry recognized it as Mrs. Weasley. She came into the kitchen with a somewhat puzzled look on her face, but the moment she spotted Harry, she broke out into a broad grin. "Oh Harry dear, I got your owl, but it's so nice to see you!"

Harry gave her a weak smile, but he knew the longer he let her get into a conversation, the harder it would be to interrupt her. "It's nice to see you to. Listen, I really need to talk to Mr. Weasley, is he in?"

Mrs. Weasley's eyes instantly narrowed and she put her hands onto her hips. "What happened, what's wrong?" So typical for Molly Weasly to instantly sense something was amiss. Harry thought back to everything that had gone wrong in the last few hours and he felt a cold hand clench around his stomach. He felt like things were falling apart at the seams.

"A lot of things," Harry answered with a heavy sigh. "Please Mrs. Weasley, if I could just talk to him."

"Alright," she said finally, still casting suspicious looks at him, "just hold on a minute." She bustled out of the kitchen, calling to Mr. Weasley as she went. "Arthur, Arthur get down here!"

It occurred to Harry that while he may have detained one of the burglars with a leg lock curse, he had left the other two virtually unattended. A little frightened by his sudden absentmindedness, he jerked his head out of the fire only to find the two of them halfway to the door. "_SIT DOWN!_" Harry roared and they both jumped. He could see them struggling between making a run for it, and returning to the sofa. However, the second he pointed his wand at them, they scurried back to the sofa. Not wanting to repeat the incident, he performed the full body bind on them as well, and returned to the fire.

The whole situation was making him very uneasy. The look of fear in their eyes only served to intensify the ill feeling that still sat in his stomach from the Hagrid situation. Harry returned to the fire, and he could again hear footsteps descending the stairs of the Burrow. Not long after Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appeared in the kitchen.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Mr. Weasley asked as he knelt in front of the fire. "Molly said something had happened."

"Several bad things, actually," Harry said. He was watching Mrs. Weasley as she sat at the table, brewing some tea. She wasn't looking at him, but Harry was sure she was listening never the less. "I need your help with a Muggle situation." He proceeded to explain and Mr. Weasley nodded every few minutes or so.

"Well you're right," he said when Harry had finished. "You're probably going to be hearing from the ministry at any moment."

"Is there anything you can do to clear this up a little more quickly?" Harry asked. "I don't want half a dozen Ministry officials here. I'm sure they'll want me to come to the Ministry to make an official report and then they'll use it as an excuse to discuss what happened with Voldemort also."

"And that's such a bad thing?" Mrs. Weasley said, not looking up from her steaming mug.

"I can't deal with it right now." Harry replied, somewhat defensively. Mr. Weasley had taken a few steps to the right of the fireplace, clearly not wanting to between the two of them when an argument broke out.

"Just get it over with, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley pressed on. "You'll have to do it eventually. It's not as if you've anything to hide." Harry didn't say anything for a few minutes and the look of worry on her face deepened. "You haven't got anything to hide, have you?" She sounded slightly hysterical and Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a couple seconds.

"I'm _not_ hiding anything," Harry said finally. "I'm going to tell the Ministry what happened, but right now I've got other things to deal with."

"I'll see what I can do Harry," Mr. Weasley said, "but I'm going to have to go to the Ministry first." Harry nodded and shifted on his knees, trying to find a more comfortable position. Unfortunately, there wasn't really one. "I suppose I'd better go change," Mr. Weasley commented and left the kitchen. Once he'd gone, Mrs. Weasley got to her feet and walked over to the fire, still holding her untouched tea.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, as if she were going to say something and then thought better of it. Finally, she said, "Harry, there's no need for you to alienate yourself like this." She had buried her unoccupied fist into the pocket of her dressing gown and the other was clenching the steaming cup of tea. "It's just, we've all lost so many people and those of us who are still here should stick together."

"I've got to go," Harry said, acting as if he hadn't heard what she said. "I don't want to tie up your fire anymore than I already have."

Molly gave him a hard look, as if she were seeing him for the first time. Finally, she nodded and Harry withdrew from the fire, his knees and back aching. The sight of three terrified faces greeting him did nothing to make him feel any better.

The house had settled into a dead silence and Harry found himself feeling very awkward. He toured the study, feeling desperate for something to do. He couldn't just sit there and stare at three captive Muggles. He came close to replacing the French doors, but hesitated incase the ministry officials would want him to leave things the way they where.

A tapping noise at the window distracted Harry and he looked up to see an owl hovering outside, a letter tied to it's leg. Harry crossed the room in a couple quick strides and opened the window. Once he retrieved the letter, his eyes quickly scanned the piece of parchment. He was unsurprised to see that it was from the Ministry.

Harry crumpled up the letter and tossed it in the fire. He then set about altering the wards, but that reminded him of something that had been bothering him before. His wards were still functioning, so how had a group of Muggles managed to breach the most basic defense in the house?

"How did you get in here?" Harry asked, turning to face them. He received worried looks and tight lips. Harry narrowed his eyes and was about to ask again when he realized that he had rendered them incapable of talking. "Right, sorry," he muttered. "I'll take the curse off, but if you try to go anywhere, I'll to it again." They blinked at him, and Harry sighed heavily. "_Finite Incantum_."

Their bodies instantly slackened and they all looked shaken. "What the hell _are_ you?" one of them exclaimed.

"It's obvious, Bruno," Aidan said, pointing a shaking finger at Harry. "He's a witch."

"I'm _not_ a witch," Harry said crossly.

"Well, what would you call it then?"

"Do I look like a woman to you?" Harry said, grinding his teeth.

"Witch, wizard, what's the difference?" Bruno said. "Either way, you're not supposed to exist."

"You won't find it very troubling in about half an hour or so," Harry replied. "Now, how did you get in here?"

"I picked the lock on your kitchen door," Aidan said, somewhat sheepishly.

"That still doesn't make any sense," Harry said with a frown.

"Well, that's what happened," he insisted.

"I'm not doubting it, but my locks are a little different than the kind you're used to." An idea occurred to Harry. "What time did you pick the lock on the kitchen door."

"How should I know? I don't remem--"

"It was nine-o-two and fifteen seconds," said the boy who's name Harry didn't know.

Harry and the other two boys stared at him with puzzled looks. "Uh, I guess I didn't expect anything quite so precis," Harry said.

"I wouldn't have had an exact time," he explained, "but I was timing how fast Aidan could get through the door."

Harry nodded absentmindedly. He had a feeling he knew what had happened. Suddenly, the fire flared up and two people emerged from the flames. Arthur Weasley and his partner, Perkins, dusted themselves off before noticing the three Muggles.

"These are them then, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, eying them carefully. "I thought you performed Petrificus Totalus on them?"

"I did," Harry replied, "but I was trying to figure out how they got in here."

"That is strange," Mr. Weasley said with a frown. "Did you find anything out?"

"I think so. From what they said, they tried to break in at the same moment I flooed in. There must be a fault in the wards, causing everything to drop while the floo is active.

"What happened over here?" Perkins was hunched over, examining the debris which had once been the French doors.

Harry sighed deeply. "I thought there were intruders in the house, most likely Death Eaters. I decided to use the advantage of surprise and blew the doors. It wasn't until after that, when I realized there were intruders, but they were Muggle. By that point it was to late. I knew I needed to hold them until Ministry officials arrived."

"You sound a little paranoid," Perkins observed. "Any particular reason why?"

Harry stared at him coldly. "I should think it would be obvious."

"Right, well I think we should probably get on with it," Mr. Weasley said, his face looking stained.

"Yes, I suppose so," Perkins said, turning away from the debris.

Harry moved across the room and watched Mr. Weasley and his partner. Left with nothing to do, he fiddled with his wand, trying to process what had happened in the past several hours.

The three Muggle boys looked positively terrified as the two wizards advanced on them. Mr. Weasley smiled kindly at them, trying to not appear threatening. "Don't worry, we're not going to hurt you."

"What are you going to do with those?" the boy named Bruno asked, pointing warily at their wands.

"Just relax now," Perkins said. "No need to get excited."

"On three then," Mr. Weasley said to his partner, and Perkins nodded. "One, two, three- _Obliviate!_" They both said the spell at the same time and moments later, the three would-be burglars had placid, vacant looks on their faces. Harry watched the process with little interest. Left to his own devices, he was again starting to worry about how Hagrid was doing.

Once Mr. Weasley and Perkins had finished the process Harry followed them as they ushered the three Muggles to the door. "You boys go home and get some sleep," Mr. Weasley said as they teetered down the front walk. "Try to stay out of trouble," He added as an afterthought. The three just nodded dumbly. "Well, Harry, I suppose we should be getting back to the Ministry," he said, shutting the front door. They headed back into the library and Harry felt a wave of loneliness crash through his stomach. The prospect of being alone in the house was entirely undesirable.

"We'll write up your report tonight," Perkins said formally. "A copy will be owled to you at the earliest convenience. However, you should probably plan for a visit to the Ministry tomorrow as I'm sure we'll have a couple questions that will need to be cleared up." Harry looked to Mr. Weasley, but he meerly shrugged. It seemed Harry was finally out of excuses.

"I'll plan to make a trip then," he said dully. Mr. Weasley gave him a concerned look.

"Perkins, how about you head back and check in. I'll just be a couple minutes." The older man shrugged and stepped into the fireplace. Once he was gone, Mr. Weasley returned his attention to Harry. "Molly was right you know." Harry gave him a quizzical look. "What I mean to say," he continued, "is that if you don't have anything to hide, then there's really no reason to keep putting this off. I can't imagine you _would_ have anything to hide." Harry supposed that if he hadn't grown up parentless, he would recognize this as the _'Is there anything you want to tell me.' _hint. He remembered Dumbledore giving it to him in his second year.

Harry tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'm going to take care of it. You're right, I've put this off for to long."

"I'm glad to hear that," Mr. Weasley said, looking relieved. There was a moment of awkward silence and Mr. Weasley looked around the library. "This is quite a house," He commented, eying the massive desk by the window.

Harry shifted on his feet, feeling self-conscious. "Yeah, well, Draco helped me pick it out." He shrugged. "I guess at the time I wasn't really paying that much attention." Mr. Weasley raised his eyebrows and Harry felt even more uncomfortable. No doubt he was having a hard time seeing how Harry could buy a house like this without giving it much thought.

"Well, I suppose you should try to get the wards fixed," Mr. Weasley said, stowing his wand in his robes. "Don't want to have any more incidents."

"I suppose," Harry replied, suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion. "Maybe I can get Draco and Neville to help me with it tomorrow."

"I won't keep you any longer then," Mr. Weasley said, heading for the fireplace. "I should go help Perkins with writing up the report." Harry nodded and Mr. Weasley tossed a pinch of floo into the fire. He was about to step through, when he paused for a moment. "If you happen to have a free moment tomorrow, you should stop by my office. Kingsley and Tonks would love to see you also."

"I'll do that," Harry said, breaking into a genuine grin. Mr. Weasley nodded and stepped into the flames. Harry continued to stare into them for a few minutes after he had disappeared, his eyes growing unfocused. It would certainly be to late to return to Hogwarts by now. McGonagall would have surely locked down the castle and it would mean rousing someone out of bed if he wanted to get in.

The house was completely still and silent and the vaulted ceiling of the library made him feel small and insignificant. He made his way out of the room, stopping to fix the doors along the way. It was hard not to drag his feet as he went up the stairs, and knew he had a long night of tossing and turning ahead of him.

* * *

Ok, so on with the reviews. I love getting them, so keep it up! 

**Dante Lewis**: Oh yes, Dear Dracobeing ever so sensitive to the matters of the universe. As for Harry, we'll just say his apparational friends will serve as a propelant of a sort, but more on that later.

**Adi Gallia1**: Well I'm glad you think so highly of my fic feels horrible for the length between this update and the last. Yeah, Harry's life is a little depressing at the moment and I'm afraid this chapter isn't much better on that front, but next time I'll spread the depression around a little bit and then we'll be heading for happier waters.

**Alex Pierce**: Yes, I know, long time between updates. However, in three days I will offically be on summer holiday, so I'll have more time to write.

As an added bonus (or maybe not, depends on what you'd call a bonus), I've uploaded three pages of handwritten text on my LiveJournal. It's nothing new, just stuff from the past, but if you're interested in what my story looks like before it reaches the reader, feel free to check it out. My LJ's listed as my website on my profile, or you can follow this link. (you know the drill, just remove the spaces). My username's propaganda(underscore)live. It doesn't really like to put the underscore in, stupid program.

www. livejournal. com/users/propaganda live/ 31937.html


	7. The Plan

_Bet you never thought another chapter was coming!_

**_disclaimer:_** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

_

* * *

_

_"Draco, your father's suffering a sentence in Azkaban thanks to that wretched Potter boy and his incompetent friends..."_

And yet they were competent enough to land him there. Draco remembered how ashamed he had felt for the treacherous thought.

_"If you have any sense of honor, you will go into that room, do whatever the Dark Lord asks, and be proud of your contribution."_

It still made him physically ill to think about the look on the muggle woman's face as he had tortured his first, and last, person to death. It had been a messy affair, using spells he had never attempted before. His Aunt Bellatrix had been cheering him on from the shadows.

Draco had never told a soul about what he had done that night. Surely, he would never have gained anyone's trust if they knew that tid-bit of information. Hours later, his mother found him sitting in the garden, heavy summer air making his blond hair stick to his sweat drenched forehead. He clutched his forearm, shivering violently regardless of the heat.

She sobbed with a sort of howling, choking noise when she saw the skull branded on his arm. Apparently, it was one thing for her son to dabble in a little light torture, but quite another to take his father's place among the Death Eaters. Not that it mattered. He would not follow in his father's footsteps.

He made no attempts to consol his mother. He had treason on the mind, this would hardly be the last time he made her cry...

- - -

It was snowing at Malfoy Manor, and Draco found himself dwelling on the past in the frigid garden.

The Dark Mark itched on his forearm, feeling like a cut healing. It had steadily been growing fainter since the battle in the Scottish glade, but he had a feeling it would never fade completely, having poisoned the underlying flesh.

The past four months were actually the first Draco had spent at Malfoy Manor since the night he recieved the mark. Following the branding, he had returned to Hogwarts, summer holiday over. His following actions had cemented his exile from his childhood home up until about a year ago when his father died and his mother had abruptly decided she was 'neutral' as far as the war went. The absurdity had made Draco laugh despite the situation.

Lucius may have obeyed his wife's desire not to permanently bar Draco from the house, but he had made sure that it would keep it's dark glory despite his treacherous son's wishes. Draco had tried to remove several treasured family heirlooms, but it was as if the house had a giant summoning charm attached to them. No sooner than getting them off the property, they would come zooming back to the house as if with magnetic attraction. Draco had very nearly avoided being stabbed by a dagger in it's haste to return to it's rightful place. At least he was able to store most of it in one of the roomier dungeons, removing them from sight.

Draco watched in dull fascination as heavy, bloated snowflakes landed on his knees and began to melt. Up to this point, he had never allowed himself time to sit and think. Since his decision to escape Voldemort's ambitions for him, his life had been one big, frantic, roller coaster ride. Now he felt anxious for _something _to happen. Perhaps he and Neville could catch another lead on the Death Eaters from the Siberian forest. They were sure to be gone, but Draco knew they would set up at another location...

The heavy winter silence was broken by the flapping of wings and a speckled, brown owl landed on the edge of his bench. It held a leg out expectantly, as if bored with it's task and took flight the moment Draco had the letter in his hands. Surprisingly, it was from Potter.

_Draco,_

_I've been called in to the Ministry and Mr. Weasley has advised me that it would be a good idea to go. I also need to ask you and Neville to do something for me. I had an incident last night and I need you to check on the status of my wards. I'll fill you in later. Please let me know how Hagrid's doing._

_Harry_

Draco wondered if Potter realized how much Dumbledore had rubbed off on him. The former headmaster of Hogwarts had always had a flair for being cryptic and Harry seemed to have taken it upon himself to keep the tradition alive. Draco folded up the letter and tucked it into his robes. At least this meant he had something to do that evening.

- - -

The ministry was almost empty when Harry arrived. The wizarding world would be feeling the havoc the war with Voldemort caused for a very long time.

It took the wizard at the visitor station only a minute to check Harry's wand and administer him a badge. The old wizard gave him a wary look, but thankfully didn't say anything to him. He still had some time before his debriefing and Mr. Weasley had asked him to stop by his office if he had a chance. Harry had a good idea what it was about, but he decided he owed it to him.

He only encountered three Ministry officials on his way up to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, which had been renamed Muggle Support and Defense to reflect the war. Each wizard had looked strained, but had a relieved air about them.

Arthur Weasley sat behind a pile of paperwork that almost completely obscured him. With his priorities shifted to 'clean up' in the muggle world, he was faced with an endless list of problems. His glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he glanced up at Harry as he stepped into the office.

"Hello Harry, I'm glad you had a chance to run up here before your appointment."

"That's fine, Mr. Weasley, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"I think it would mean a lot to Molly if you could come for dinner tonight." He had an anxious look on his face. "I should say I would really appreciate it as well."

Harry shifted on his feet guiltily and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, sure, Mr. Weasley. That's no problem."

Mr. Weasley smiled wanly. "That's good, I'll let Molly know. Feel free to bring Neville and Draco. We'd like to see them as well."

"Sure, I'll ask them."

"Thank you. Well, I suppose you'd better head to your debriefing." Mr. Weasley was rolling a quill between his fingers, causing droplets of ink to splatter the parchment underneath.

"I'll see you tonight then," Harry said, heading back out the door. He strode quickly toward the lift, feeling self-loathing rise in his chest. It shouldn't be Harry going to visit them for dinner, it should be Ron or Ginny.

"You certainly are in a hurry today, Harry." The voice was mild and friendly. He knew it could belong to only one person.

"Hello, Professor, I have a meeting to attend. I don't want to be late for it."

Albus Dumbledore gave him a knowing smile. "Yes, I suppose you've had poor experience with Ministry-arranged appointments."

"It can be inconvenient, sir." Visits from Dumbledore were rare, perhaps due to the fact that the man had no problem accepting that he was dead. Harry had come up with the theory that Dumbledore might be able to help him make the apparitions stop. Maybe because Dumbledore always seemed to have an answer, however he had yet been presented with the chance to ask him. Unfortunately, during a walk through the Ministry was not an opportune time to work out magic-infused psychological issues.

"Sir, I need to ask you something."

"Fire away Harry."

"Whatever made you come here right now, I need to ask you to come back again later. I need to talk to you about a very important matter."

Dumbledore gave him the penetrating look Harry had received on several occasions in the past. He wondered how well a hallucinated specter, albeit one that was Albus Dumbledore, could practice legilimens.

"I hope your debriefing goes proficiently."

Apparently, it worked rather well.

"I'm sure it will Professor."

"Till the next time then Harry." And with that, he was gone.

Being a debriefing and not a hearing, Harry merely had to report to an office in the depths of the Ministry. The room looked as if it hadn't been more than a storage room up until a couple of weeks ago. There were still some filing cabinets and unused furniture piled against one of the walls and a sign had been attached to the door that read 'Debriefing Room 4'. A middle aged witch sat inside waiting for him. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked as if she hadn't slept in days. She asked him a handful of questions, only speaking again when he had finished an answer. Unlike Rita Skeeter, she wrote his answers down, her hand flying across the paper. Harry wondered if her usual job was as a court stenographer. She didn't seem as interested in his answers as she was in completing the debriefing.

When she was finished, she lay the quill down and blew her hair out of her face.

"Your account will be filed under VU120906HP. Please keep this designation for your records." She handed him a scrap of paper with the filing written in heavy, black ink. He got the feeling that the report would be stashed away in some room and momentarily forgot. All that seemed to be important was that Voldemort was gone, and this time, he wasn't coming back.

- - -

The floo deposited him at his study, Draco and Neville not more than five feet away, staring at the fireplace. Neville jumped in surprise and tripped on the hem of his robe. He landed in a pile on the rug and Draco didn't even look down.

"Ah, look. The King of the Castle is back," Draco smirked.

"Indeed I am," Harry replied, ignoring Draco's bait.

"How was the Ministry?" Neville's voice floated up from the heap on the floor.

"Uneventful," Harry said with a frown. "For once, no one seemed interested in dragging things out."

"You should be happy about that. Aren't you the one who's always declaring that you're not attention starved." Draco gave him a look of scandalized shock.

"You get used to things one way. I suppose that's how you always expect them to be."

"Look, Longbottom! Potter's exercising a shred of control. I'm going to have to find a new pastime."

Harry seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. "By the way, Molly Weasley wants us to come over for dinner."

"You don't seem to happy about that," Neville said, finally pulling himself up off the floor.

"I wonder why that might be?" Draco said, rolling his eyes, but Neville ignored him.

"I don't want to be a burden," Harry mumbled, pretending to search for something in the pockets of his robes.

"I doubt she would have asked if that was the case," Draco said, heading over to Harry's desk. "I'll send her an owl saying we'll be there."

"No need, I already told Mr. Weasley we would."

"My, you've had a productive day. And here Neville and I were being lazy. We haven't done anything with your wards yet."

"What, exactly, is wrong with them Harry?" Neville asked, giving the fireplace a scrutinizing look.

"Yes, do tell, because your note was rather vague." Draco had deposited himself in Harry's desk chair and was resting his chin in his hands.

"I had some muggle thieves break in here last night after I got back from Siberia." Harry flopped himself down on the sofa. The memory of the three terrified muggle boy's faces still gave him a quezy feeling in his stomach.

"That's strange, the doors should be protected from muggle means of breaking and entering," Neville said with a frown. He was now down on his hands and knees at the fireplace muttering a few spells under his breath. Every now and then, blue sparks issued from the tip of his wand.

"And they are, I checked."

"How did they get in then?" Draco asked. Harry always liked when Draco was puzzled, because for just one moment, it wiped the smug smirk off his face.

"I think that when the floo activates, the wards drop." Draco and Neville nodded slowly in thought and Neville tried another diagnostic spell.

"Some of the spell work in your floo network connection must be interfering with those of your wards." Neville twiddled with his wand as he thought of means of fixing the given problem.

"We might just have to redo the whole thing," Draco chimed in. "Shouldn't take more than an hour."

"Not with you sitting in that chair it won't," Neville grumbled.

"We'd better go to the Weasley's first then. Mr. Weasley told me he'd be leaving the ministry at five o'clock and it's almost half past."

"Sounds good," Neville said, standing up and brushing soot off his knees. "I haven't had a good home cooked meal in ages." He looked a little sheepish. "Matilda tries, but she just doesn't seem to have a knack for cooking."

"Remind me to give you a house elf for your wedding," Draco laughed.

"Wedding?" Harry said in surprise. "You and Tillie are getting married?"

"Yes, but don't get offended, I only just asked her a couple days ago."

Harry knew he should feel happy for Neville, he _did _feel happy, but his heart keept reminding him that he would never marry the girl he loved. "I'm not offended, it's just a surprise."

"I thought that now would be a good time to ask her."

Draco had been watching the conversation between the two and decided it was about time to intervene. "I'm starving, I think it's about time we got going."

"You're right, things should be fine here until we come back," Harry said, crossing his arms. "Thanks again for helping me with this."

"Well, we haven't really done anything yet," Neville said with a smile.

"Yeah, you know, I had these really big plans for today too..." Draco said, pulling himself up out of the desk chair.

"Poor Draco, you're such a horrible liar."

"Thanks Longbottom."

Harry pulled the pot of floo powder off the mantle and passed it to Draco and Neville. The second floo trip in less than ten minutes made Harry's empty stomach churn. Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen when they exited the fireplace. Several pots were bubbling away on the stove.

"Oh boys!" she said, turning around. "It's so good to see you. Thank you so much, Harry for bringing them along." She embraced Harry in a bone crushing hug, then did the same to Neville and Draco.

"Thank you for having us over for dinner Mrs. Weasely," Neville wheezed as she squeezed the air out of his lungs.

"It's nothing Neville dear. It's a pleasure to have you here."

"What are we? Chopped liver?" Two figures were seated at the previously empty table. Harry gave an involuntary twitch and tried to avoid looking in their direction.

"So what's for dinner?" Draco asked, giving the stove a hopeful look.

"You always have to get right to the point, don't you?" Neville snorted.

"Can you believe it George, we're being ignored?"

"By our own mother, no less." George replied. "Hey, what gives Harry?"

Harry tried to pay attention to what Mrs. Weasley was saying but he couldn't block out Fred and George. Neville and Draco headed for the table and Neville headed for the same chair Fred was seated in.

"Hey, Neville, I know we're friends, but aren't you a little old for sitting in someone's la-" Fred stopped short as Neville passed through him and sat down without notice.

"That usually doesn't happen," George said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"There's really only one situation that I can think of something like this taking place, but I never really pegged us as the ghost types," Fred said wistfully. "Think of all the fun we can have with Filch now."

"Still thought we would have passed on though... If we died I mean." George sounded uncharacteristically troubled.

"Hey, wait, everyone should still be able to see us though."

"I've got to go to the bathroom," Harry suddenly blurted and everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

"That's fine dear," Mrs. Weasley said, giving him a worried look, "you know where it is."

Harry stood and pointedly looked at Fred and George, then sharply jerked his head toward the hallway outside the kitchen. They gave him a bewildered look and he repeated the motion, then walked out of the room. A few moments later, they joined him at the bottom of the narrow stairs.

"I take it that you have no problem seeing us then," George said.

"Yes, but I'm the only one who can. Don't ask me why," Harry said, cutting off Fred as he opened his mouth.

"But we _are_ dead then," he said instead.

"Yes."

"Well, that's like a kick in the pants."

"No, I think it's worse than a kick in the pants," George said.

"Probably, I wouldn't know," Harry said, sitting down on the stairs.

"We appreciate the concern Harry." Fred looked annoyed.

"Listen, you two aren't the first to come and have these oh-so-entertaining and sanity-shattering conversations with me. Pardon me."

"Sanity-shattering? Who ever gave you the impression you were sane?"

"Thanks a lot, George, but coming from you right here, right now, that doesn't do a lot for me."

Both of the twins shrugged and gave him a what-do-you-do kind of look.

- - -

Draco could hear a one-sided conversation taking place out in the hall and despite Neville's attempt to cover the noise by talking, he could tell Mrs. Weasley heard it also.

"I need you two boys to be honest with me," Mrs. Weasley said, interrupting Neville's long-winded story about his plans to take a holiday in Asia with Matilda. "What's the matter with Harry?"

Neville's mouth hung open for a minute or so and Draco could see the wheels turning as he tried to think of something to satisfy her. "Well, you know, everyone's a little different after everything with the war."

"For goodness sake Neville, he's having a conversation with a wall. I can _hear_ him."

"Well, Harry's been spending the last couple months in the muggle world," Draco said studying his tea cup. "I hear they have these things that make it so they can talk to other muggles from anywhere."

"Yes, I've heard of telephones," Mrs. Weasley said, sounding exasperated, "but you'd like me to believe he's talking to a person named Fred?"

"It _is_ a common name," Draco said, still not looking up.

"And George as well?"

"No less so."

"Draco, you have earned my respect these last two years, but I will not tolerate an insult to my intelligence." Her voice was icy and she was gripping the creamer so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Would either of you boys care for any cream with your tea?" It appeared that she had decided to give up on getting an explanation. For the time being.

The muttering out in the hallway had stopped and Harry reappeared in the tension-filled kitchen. He looked as though he could sense the stiff atmosphere. "So what's for dinner?" he said with a strained grin.

Mrs. Weasley kept the forced smile on her face and jumped up from the table. "I've got a chicken in the oven. Sit down, Harry. It'll just be a moment." She started bustling around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets at random, but Draco thought it looked like she was just trying to keep herself busy.

"Were's Mr. Weasley," Neville asked. "I thought he was done with work at five."

"Oh, he owled to say he had to stay late. It happens more often than not anymore." She shrugged as if it weren't a problem, but she still looked bothered.

The dinner was drawn out and tense. Harry had to repeatedly fight the urge to keep glancing at his watch. Draco kept shooting him disapproving looks across the table. He kept trying to think of excuses to leave early, but considering his relationship with Mrs. Weasley, he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't come off as unacceptably rude. After several cups of after dinner tea and Draco's small talk was finally exhausted, they were ready to leave. Harry suspected that Draco had purposely extended their visit. He was just ready to step into the fireplace when Mrs. Weasley pulled Harry into one last hug.

"If you get a chance to speak with Fred and George again, tell them that I love them." Her voice was choked and a chill went up Harry's back. He was so caught by surprise that he nodded rigidly, spun around, and stepped into the fire.

Draco and Neville were already waiting for him back in his study and he lunged for Draco the moment his feet landed on the hearth. "Why the hell did you have to go and tell her about my problem," Harry roared, his fists clenching the front of Draco's robe.

"I _didn't_," Draco hissed, shoving him away. "She figured it out for herself while you were having your little conversation in the hall." Neville looked helplessly between the two of them, both had a furious look on their face.

Harry faltered for a moment, his line of argument lost. He decided to switch tactics. "Yeah, well you sure drug your heals through dinner, I thought you would never stop discussing the latest cauldron designs with her."

"Listen to yourself, you sound like you're five. I was being sociable."

Neville gave up on the idea of mitigating and sat down on the sofa. He picked up a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and began to thumb through it.

"You know, this isn't easy," Harry said, jumping topics again. "I would _love_ to spend time with people, but as we found out tonight, that's not really an option."

"Yes, Harry. I'm aware of that, but Mrs. Weasly cares about you. She wants you to be happy."

"I really doubt anybody has the ability to make me happy right now."

"Gee, thanks," Neville mumbled from the couch.

"You know what I mean!" Harry said in exasperation.

"Actually, I've been thinking about this a little lately," Draco began.

"And what, you're going to tell me to just get over it?" Harry interrupted.

"No, I have a suggestion on how to fix it."

Neville lowered the book and gave Draco a wary look. "Fix it how?"

"First, I need to ask you two to hear me out before you start arguing."

"That's starting things off on a good foot," Harry snorted.

"Just sit down and listen Potter," Draco said, pointing to the desk chair. Harry grudgingly sat and crossed his arms.

Draco paced in front of the desk for a moment, as if trying to figure out the best way to say what he was thinking. "Ok, Neville, do you remember last night at Hogwarts when I asked you if you ever wondered if we all went down the wrong path in life?"

"You're not saying we all should have become Death Eaters are you?" Harry blurted out.

"No, I'm _not_ saying that," Draco shot back, "and remember that you're supposed to be hearing me out?" Harry didn't say anything, but settled back into his chair. "Some people believe that every little choice in life can completely affect life's outcome. For instance, if Potter had accepted my invitation of friendship back in the first year, we could have sidestepped five years of one-upmanship." Harry merely continued to glare. "What I'm saying, is we go back to a point in the past and alter a decision, resulting in a better outcome."

"Or worse," Neville chimed in, his eyebrows pointing down in a worried V.

"Perhaps, but think of the sheer number of people who have already died. How differently would the war have gone if Dumbledore hadn't been killed at the end of the seventh year?"

"All of this is pointless, time turners can't take you back more than a week, and even if that wasn't an issue, we haven't got one." Harry said, but Draco thought he saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"There's a way besides time turners," Draco said, his voice now more subdued. "But it's dark magic."

"If there was a way, then why wouldn't Voldemort have taken advantage of it?" Harry said skeptically.

"It requires three willing participants who are then eternally bound together." Draco said, "I doubt he trusted anyone enough to participate in the spell, let alone two people."

"Three participants, how convenient," Harry said, but now there was excitement in his voice.

"Not necessarily," Draco said. A look of queasiness had come over Neville's face.

"Once we do it, there's no going back, right." Neville said in a small voice. "It destroys this reality."

"That's true, it also destroys our bodies." Draco said grimly, "So even if we could come back to this reality, we would have no means of occupying it."

"Wait, destroys our bodies? Then how could we exist in the past?" Harry said.

"We occupy our bodies from that time," Draco explained. "Our soul of this present gets integrated with the soul of our past. Since we've already _experienced _the past, it all just kind of melts together, or so the book says."

"But I take it things aren't quite that easy." Harry said, leaning back in the desk chair.

"No, they're not. It will take a couple of weeks of preparation, and the whole event has to take place at a certain moment on the evening of October 31st."

"Halloween." Harry rolled his eyes. "Figures. But that gives us time at least, Halloween's still a month away."

"That's true. The problem is, I see one major issue with the plan," Draco said, finally settling down on the sofa next to Neville.

"And what's that?" Harry said, ready to overcome any problems by any means possible.

"Our love-struck friend here."

Harry hadn't noticed, but Neville had been staring out the window with a distraught look on his face. He felt horrible, he hadn't even considered Neville's upcoming marriage with Matilda.

"Remember, it takes three."


End file.
